Rajat Kapur Part 1 – The Arrival The train had been late by two hours, monsoon clouds pressing down against the old glass windows of Ernakulam Junction, making everything smell of wet earth and fried banana chips. Aarav Mehta stepped out with his suitcase in one hand, briefcase in the other, shirt collar sticking slightly to his neck from the humidity he had not yet learned to tolerate. Delhi had its own brutal weather, but this was different, a heavy curtain of air that carried salt, rain, and something he could not name. He scanned the crowded platform, searching for…
